


two birds on a wire

by tentaclemonster



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugged Sex, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Multi, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclemonster/pseuds/tentaclemonster
Summary: Damian is dying and Slade is the only one with the cure. Dick is willing to do whatever it takes to get it, even if it means hurting Damian in order to save him.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson/Damian Wayne
Kudos: 382





	two birds on a wire

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Regina Spektor song of the same name.
> 
> Set in some nebulous universe where Dick was Slade’s apprentice as Robin for a time and Bad Things happened to him and now in present time years later Dick is Batman and Damian is his Robin.

Damian’s eyes are right on Dick, but it’s clear from a glance that he isn’t seeing who’s in front of him. 

His eyes are glazed, glossy, pupils dilated so much that his irises look like they’ve been swallowed up by black. Dick knows the second he sees him that Damian isn’t seeing him back, that he has no idea that Dick has just come through the door, that he’s unaware of not only Dick but all of his surroundings. 

And in that moment a selfish, horrified little part of Dick wishes he was just as blind as Damian because there’s absolutely nothing stopping  _ him _ from seeing everything in front of him in full, technicolor vision, sound effects included.

He sees Damian stretched out on a king sized bed that his small form looks even tinier in. His arms are stretched above his head, his wrists bound together with his own cape in a binding that Damian could have gotten out of in a minute if he were in his right mind, but of course, he isn’t now. His body is stripped of every other bit of his Robin costume save for the green pixie boots still on his feet and the rest of his skin is bare and flushed, sweat slick and glistening. His knees are pulled in, close to his body and spread, and the position gives Dick a clear view of what’s between his legs.

And Dick doesn’t want to look –  _ hates _ to look – but it’s impossible not to have his eyes drawn to that place, to Damian’s cock, small and hard and leaking there. It’s just as impossible not to hear Damian’s sounds, his moans, the way he’s breathing in fast, little gasps as his body writhes against sheets and his hips jerking up, thrusting into nothing, to not see the look on Damian’s face and connect the dots and take a guess at what it is he’s feeling.

Dick swallows and feels his own face burning at the sight of him, at the  _ sounds _ , his stomach turning, and it’s only when he hears the sound of the door softly clicking closed behind him that the anger rushes up in him and takes over everything else, swallowing up the embarrassment and the nausea both.

He spins around and spits, “What the  _ hell _ –“

“Easy,” Slade interrupts, sounding perfectly calm in a way  _ Dick _ certainly can’t relate to as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the door, blocking the one exit to the room. “I already told you he got exposed to something at the warehouse.”

“And you conveniently forgot to tell me that it did  _ this _ to him?”

“What? And miss the look on your face when you saw him like this?” 

Slade sounds amused and the levity in his voice jars something in Dick, pushing just the wrong button in him in just the right way.

Dick knows – he  _ knows _ – that was probably the point, but he still can’t stop himself from reacting to it anyway.

He steps forward, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, and spits out, “Why is he  _ naked _ , Slade?”

Slade isn’t intimidated, though. He looks entirely unperturbed at the threat evident in every tense line of Dick’s body. He only raises a brow, his eye sparkling, almost daring Dick to do more.

“The kid took the costume off himself,” Slade says. “I had to stop him from stripping down right there in the warehouse. Once I got him here, I let him go long enough to get my phone out to call you and next thing I know, he’s down to nothing but his boots.”

“And the restraints?”

Slade smirks at him, leering. “Let’s just say Robin wasn’t content with being the only one naked in the room.”

Dick inhales sharply, his fists shaking at his sides from how tightly he has them clenched. 

“I swear to god, Slade, if you –“ 

Dick bites off the rest of it, not able to even say it out loud. The thought of it is bad enough. 

He turns away from Slade, not able to look at him for another second without doing something impulsive and lashing out, but that only brings him back around to looking at Damian again which is so much worse. 

Dick finds his gaze dragging over Damian’s body before he can think about it.

He’s looking for signs – bruises, bite marks, body fluids, blood. He knows what Slade is like, what he does. Dick knows it from seeing his own body in the mirror back when  _ he _ was Robin and he knows from the lack of any such sign on Damian’s body that Slade hasn’t done any of the things happening in the horror movie playing out in his head even before Slade denies it. 

“I haven’t put a hand on him that I didn’t have to, Grayson. I got his hands off of me, I tied him up, I called you, and that was it.”

And Dick, god help him, believes him. 

He believes him, not because he thinks Slade isn’t capable of doing again what he’s already proven himself willing to do before, but because he knows that if Slade had fucked Damian, his little brother wouldn’t be in the shape he’s in now. He’d have much more wrong with him than just the obvious effects whatever concoction he’s been exposed to. He’d be hurt. Damaged. Broken in ways Dick himself knows intimately, if not worse. 

Damian is even smaller than Dick was when he was Robin and Slade is so much bigger than him by comparison. If Slade had done to Damian the things he’d once done to Dick...god, it makes Dick sick to think about.

Despite himself, something in Dick’s chest eases to know that it didn’t happen. It’s not enough to soothe his anger or tone down the nervy feeling running through him that makes him want to just grab Damian and run, but it’s enough to make him stop imagining punching the smirk off of Slade’s face. 

He takes a breath, releases it. 

“Do you know what he was exposed to?” he asks, trying to affect a calm he doesn’t actually feel. 

It’s impossible to feel calm looking at Damian how he is, impossible to feel detached. Dick tries to think in clinical terms, to ignore the obvious of what he’s seeing, the picture that it makes. He tells himself that Damian is alive, that his breathing is fast but not enough to indicate he’s close to losing consciousness, that he looks exhausted but that it’s not to a point that it’s worrisome, that he looks flushed and sweaty but not exactly feverish.

Dick rattles the observations off in his head like he’s a doctor reading off a patient’s chart. He tries to distance himself from the image of Damian on the bed, Damian naked and moaning and exposed in a way he’d never accept being exposed were he in his right mind, exposed to  _ Slade _ of all people who is the absolute last person Dick ever wants to be around Damian when he’s like this. 

Dick tries to pretend it isn’t getting to him, but he can’t and trying doesn’t help.

He can hear Slade shifting on his feet behind him. 

“One of Poison Ivy’s little inventions,” Slade says. “Supposed to lower inhibitions, make the person dosed feel out of it enough to susceptible to being led around. She sold the formula to the Salamancas and they had their own guy tweak it to cause the results your Robin here is displaying. As I understand it, they were planning to use it on women they’re shipping in to work for them. Apparently some of their customers don’t like fucking someone who can’t bother to pretend to actually want it, they want a girl who’s a little more... _ eager _ .”

Dick grimaces, but it’s not his disgust that has him turning back to Slade – it’s surprise. 

“Poison Ivy wouldn’t be involved with human trafficking,” Dick says, certain of it. “She’s a villain, but she’s not that kind of villain. I’ve known her to kill men for what you’re describing.”

Slade gives Dick a look at that that it takes Dick all of a second to decipher.

“She’s the one who hired you. She wanted you to get the formula back.”

“She already knows the formula, kid, she’s the one who made it. She wanted me to stop production of whatever the Salamancas turned it into – with extreme prejudice shown to anyone who tried to stop me, of course.”

“Of course,” Dick sighs, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Dick spares a moment to curse in his head that Damian picked  _ tonight _ of all nights to go off without him to investigate the Salamancas’ warehouse when Dick had expressly told him more than once not to go out as Robin alone. He bites back the urge to sigh again and pushes his annoyance away. It isn’t fair to feel it now, not when Damian is where he is. Dick will save the lecture for later – whenever later is. 

His heart pounds in his chest a little too hard for a beat or two before he asks, “Will it wear off on it’s own?”

“No,” Slade says, and Dick suffers the feeling of his stomach plummeting to his feet for the second it takes before Slade continues, “but there’s an antidote.” 

Dick’s eyes snap open. His hand drops away from his face.

He takes in Slade’s relaxed posture leaning back against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, the glint in his eye, the barely there smirk on his face, and the look he has that Dick is too familiar with, the one that says Slade knows something he doesn’t.

And Dick is old enough hat at this by now to know that what he doesn’t know  _ can _ hurt him – and that it probably will, especially where Deathstroke is involved.

“You have the antidote,” Dick says rather than asks, because he knows that, too. 

He knows, suddenly and terribly, what this is. Why Slade brought Damian to his safe house instead of just leaving him at the Salamancas’ warehouse for god only knows what to happen to him, why he called Dick afterwards and told him he had Damian here, why he didn’t hurt Damian like he could have – like Dick knows he’s capable of.

He wants something. Namely, he wants something from Dick and he knows that Dick would never have cooperated if Slade had done anything...untoward towards Damian. The antidote is leverage and Damian’s untouched body is insurance that Dick won’t be pushed into crossing the line and taking Slade out for good after whatever this is is done. 

That Slade knows Dick well enough in return to know that him doing to Damian even a shred of what he’d done to Dick back when Dick was Robin  _ would _ be enough to make Dick break the code he’s always lived by only adds on to the acidic feeling hanging in the back of Dick’s throat.

Slade only confirms what Dick’s already figured out for himself when he says, “Glad to see putting on the Bat’s outfit hasn’t hurt that big brain of yours, kid.”

Dick’s fists clench again at his sides. He wants nothing more than to cross the distance between them and beat Slade until his face is bloody and raw, but – he can’t. Not while Damian needs him. Not while Slade holds Damian’s life in the palm of his hand.

“What do you want?” Dick grits out, already resigned to agreeing to whatever it is because for Damian he could do nothing less.

He assumes Slade will ask for his help on a job, maybe for information, maybe to steal something that only he has access to. 

On any of those guesses, Dick would be wrong.

Slade’s arms drop from his chest and he pushes himself away from the door, taking a few steps closer to Dick, but not enough to be within arm’s reach. Not yet.

“I said I didn’t touch this new little Robin, but –“ Slade’s smirk widens, his eye shining, his expression predatory in every possible way, “ – that doesn’t mean I don’t like the idea.”

And if there’s anything Dick was expecting Slade to say, it wasn’t that. 

Dick’s breath stutters in his throat at Slade’s words, at the implication in them so blatantly spelled out in them, and for one horrible moment, he feels like time is standing still. 

The feeling hangs in Dick’s chest like a stone suspended in air when Slade takes another step towards him and then another and another until he’s standing so close to Dick that Dick can feel the heat of the front of Slade’s body warm against his. Slade reaches out and puts his hand against the side of Dick’s face, cupping his cheek. The warmth of his palm and the calluses on it and the way Slade’s thumb drags across Dick’s bottom lip are so familiar that it’s painful in a way, no matter how soft the touch actually is.

It shouldn’t be familiar after so long, Dick thinks with something like desperation. He should have forgotten the way it feels to have Slade touching him like this by now, but suddenly it feels like the years since he passed on the Robin mantel haven’t happened at all and he’s back to being a kid, still learning to be on his own, and Slade’s unwilling apprentice again and Slade’s touch is just part of the routine, something he had to get used to, something he had – shamefully,  _ so _ shamefully – learned to look forward to as the one bit of comfort he was able to grasp hold of in days spent being pushed to exhaustion with training, being forced to commit crimes on Slade’s instruction, and being punished harshly and physically when his performance proved to be lacking.

Dick’s immediate impulse to lean into the touch like Slade had trained him to all those years ago should be gone by now, too, but it isn’t. It’s still there and Dick’s throat feels tight and painful when he nearly does it without thinking, before he manages to stop himself by making his whole body go tense, watching Slade like a cornered animal might, frozen in the purgatory between fight and flight.

“I’m not going to do anything to your Robin, Grayson,” Slade promises him, his voice low enough to almost be called gentle to anyone who didn’t know him better, but Dick does. Dick knows Slade as well as he knows himself. “No, what I want –“ 

Slade steps forward again, closing the scant distance between them. His front presses flush against Dick’s body, so flush that Dick can feel the obvious hardness pressing against him and knows immediately what it is, and he should step back, he should step back now and get away, but – 

Slade’s head lowers down, his stubble scratching Dick’s skin. His mouth brushes Dick’s ear, his breath hot against it.

“-- what I want is to see you do to your little apprentice all the things your Master used to do to you.”

And that’s all it takes for Dick to explode.

He shoves Slade away from him, the push of it violent as the rage expands in him with enough force to break whatever had him standing frozen before like it was glass shell surrounding his body that had now been shattered to a million pieces. 

It doesn’t help Dick’s anger any when Slade steps back more than stumbles, when his mouth turns up in a grin, when he  _ laughs _ at Dick – at how pissed off Dick is, how disgusted.

“You’re  _ sick _ ,” Dick spits at him, but it only makes Slade look more amused.

“Come now,  _ Robin _ ,” Slade drawls, “what I want isn’t so terrible. You used to beg me for it, after all.”

Dick refuses to acknowledge the memories Slade’s words bring up or the twinge of shame that burns in his gut at knowing that what Slade says is  _ true _ . 

Dick had begged him. 

After he’d been beaten and starved and threatened and tortured in a thousand ways, he’d begged for Slade to fuck him. He’d gotten into Slade’s bed without being ordered. He’d instigated intimacy between them without being pushed. It was the lesser evil back then. It made Slade more inclined to stop hurting him in other ways. It made Slade treat him with a modicum of human decency or, at least, as much human decency as you could be shown by someone who was threatening your friends’ lives in order to essentially hold you hostage and force you to do things you’d never otherwise do.

Logically, Dick knows none of it was his fault. He’s studied the psychology. He’s rescued enough victims of other villains and taken them to support groups, quietly lingering outside for moral support and hearing their testimonies in the process, their accounts of going through things that were familiar to Dick in all the wrong ways and the shame and guilt they felt that he knows all too well about not feeling like they’d done enough to fight back, to escape, to do  _ more _ in their situation. 

He knows that captives will often seek to please their captors as a means of survival, of coping with their situation, and that it isn’t a reflection on them or their worth and that it doesn’t mean they actually wanted what happened to them.

_ Logically _ , Dick knows this, but logic feels worthless in comparison to remembering how he’d been with Slade, the things he’d begged for, the way he’d reacted when Slade was on top of him and inside of him, the way he’d felt when he’d had Slade’s hand wrapped around his cock and how he’d come over and over again with Slade’s name on his lips.

“I won’t do it,” he tells Slade, shaking his head. He swallows hard, his mind racing. “I’ll take Damian to someone else. They can take his blood and synthesize an antidote. I don’t  _ need _ you, Slade.”

Slade is blunt in his disagreement, “He’ll be dead in a few hours, Grayson.”

“You’re  _ lying _ .” 

“Oh, but I’m not,” Slade says, then goes on patiently and without a lick of remorse, “When I was scoping out the warehouse, I saw the Salamancas test their product out on a few of their girls. They get confused at first and then they get desperate for a fuck and then they die. The quickest one took a little less than four hours, but one of them lasted for nearly a whole six and she didn’t look like she was happy about having that extra time by the time she finally died. It’s been over an hour for your Robin over there and he’s already looking strung out, so I’m thinking he has three more hours to go, maybe less, and you and I both know that whatever genius you take him to, there’s no way they’ll be able to figure out a cure for him in the short window he has left. You need the antidote and I’m the only way you’re going to get it, so yeah, kid, you need me.”

Dick’s breath shudders as he inhales, long and deep, and drags his hand roughly through his hair. His heartbeat is pounding at a fast tempo with anger and fear both making it thump like a drumbeat, and he turns away from Slade, he has to, the movement of his body too fueled by nervous energy to manage standing stil.

Dick wants to believe Slade is lying. He wants to believe it more than he’s ever wanted to believe anything in his life, but if there’s one thing Dick has always been bad at when it comes to Deathstroke, it’s gauging the difference between the truth and a bluff.

Either Slade is lying and Damian will be fine in a few hours or he’s telling the truth and Damian will be dead, but Dick doesn’t have the luxury of waiting to find out. 

Damian doesn’t have that luxury.

Dick catches sight of Damian on the bed again, his body almost still now except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes too quickly and the occasional spasm, and Dick’s chest aches from just looking at him and imagining his body gone entirely still, his skin pale with death instead of flush with heat, his chest motionless once he stops breathing.

Dick turns back to Slade too fast, his mind scrambling.

“Just –“ Dick stops to take a deep, shaky breath. To swallow his pride, for Damian’s sake, because he knows Damian is worth it. “Just have me, okay? I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll do everything I used to. I’ll call you  _ Master _ , for fuck’s sake, Slade, just – just leave Damian out of it.  _ Please _ .”

Dick wonders if it’s a kindness that Slade doesn’t even bother pretending to consider his offer, that he doesn’t let Dick get his hopes up for even a second before cruelly crushing them under his heel.

“This isn’t a negotiation, kid,” Slade tells him. “You don’t have any leverage here. I told you what I want already and I’m not in the mood to change my mind.”

Dick shuts his eyes as tight as he can and bites his tongue on the urge to scream. His throat is tight and it makes swallowing painful and Dick’s mind is running a mile a minute trying to think of something, anything, he can do to avoid what Slade is asking of him. 

But Slade is right, this isn’t a negotiation. Dick wants Damian alive and Slade is the only one who can give him what he needs to make that happen. Dick has nothing to threaten Slade with that will get him the antidote in time and nothing to offer him that he can’t just take. Slade holds all the cards here, just like he did years ago when he held the Titans’ lives against Dick as he’s holding Damian’s life against him now.

There’s nothing Dick can do.

There’s  _ nothing _ –

“I can’t –“ Dick chokes out anyway, but he knows already that this isn’t his choice any more than the first time he crawled into Slade’s bed on his own was a choice.

_ I can’t do this to him _ , is what Dick wants to say.  _ I promised I would protect him. I can’t hurt him. I can’t be like  _ **_you_ ** **.**

“You can,” Slade says, as if he’s answering Dick’s thoughts, and Dick can’t hold back the flinch then, “and you will.”

Dick’s eyes are still shut but he still hears Slade as he moves closer. He still feels Slade’s body heat as it enters his personal space. He still feels Slade’s hands when they grasp either side of his face in a hold that would be comforting if anyone else was doing it – if it was Bruce whose hands were cupping his cheeks and sliding down his neck and then to his shoulders where they squeeze down in a facsimile of reassurance, of comfort, of care.

Dick shudders at the feeling of those hands on him, at knowing they don’t belong to Bruce at all, at remembering all the things those same hands had done to him before, but he doesn’t try to knock them off or fight them. He doesn’t even when Slade moves his hands to Dick’s clothing and begins to pull it off. 

It’s easier not to do anything, to stand passively by as Slade pulls off his shirt and then pulls down his pants and his underwear, to not resist or kick when he bends down to take off his shoes. It helps Dick to remember that this isn’t his choice, that he isn’t doing this because he wants it, that Slade is doing this to him and doing it to Damian, that this isn’t Dick’s  _ fault _ .

Dick wonders if he’ll still remember that when this is over.

When Dick is naked, Slade’s hands run up his sides, dragging rough paths up Dick’s bare skin that have him shivering despite himself. He hears Slade chuckle at the reaction, pleased with it, but Dick doesn’t say anything in response. He tries to go away from himself, to pretend that this isn’t happening to him, but to someone else, and it works for a minute. 

It works as Slade’s hands go to Dick’s shoulders to turn him around and Dick goes with the movement, and when Slade pushes him forward, Dick goes with that, too, barely stumbling.

It’s only when Dick’s legs hit the mattress that his eyes snap open just in time for him to stumble forward, knees first onto the bed. He throws out a hand to catch himself and only hits the bed itself instead of Damian through sheer dumb luck. 

It’s not possible to pretend that he’s somewhere else then, not when Damian is so close now, close enough that Dick can see the individual beads of sweat on his skin, that he can feel the heat radiating off of Damian’s body and smell the scent of him, that he can see the pre-come leaking out of his little cock and see the way Damian’s hands flex against his bonds and the little hitches in his breath that come with the movements.

Damian’s eyes are open, but half-lidded and as unseeing as they were when Dick first walked in the room, and Dick says a small prayer in his head that if anything about this goes his way at all, it’s that Damian’s drugged state means he’s so out of it that he won’t remember any of this later on. 

Bad enough Dick will have to live with the memories, but he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to live with himself if Damian does, too.

The bed dips with the weight of Slade’s body kneeling down behind him and the instant protest that rises on Dick’s tongue dries up when Slade’s hands are on his hips seconds later, urging him further onto the bed and closer to Damian. Dick swallows hard, swallows down the voice inside of him screaming at him to get up and stop this, and reluctantly shuffles forward until he’s kneeling between Damian’s still spread legs. 

The tops of his knees touch Damian’s thighs and Damian – 

Damian’s eyes shut tight at the contact and he  _ moans _ , his body shuddering as it arches, his head thrown back and his arms straining where they’re bound above his head and his little cock pulsing between his legs. 

Dick feels something in his stomach clench unbidden at the look of him then, his face flushing with heat, at the same time as he feels Slade’s front pressed against his back, his still hard cock pushing against Dick’s ass and his hands still on Dick’s hips, tightening as he chuckles into Dick’s ear. 

“Look at that, Grayson,” Slade murmurs, and Dick shudders when he feels Slade’s  _ teeth _ dragging sharp and wet along the shell of his ear. “He remind you of anyone?”

Dick inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood at the question and hates himself for responding that much, for letting it get to him, for letting it  _ remind _ him just like he knows Slade wanted it to.

He tries to ignore it otherwise and says, his voice rough, “Let’s just get this over with. What do you want me to do?”

Slade, unfortunately, isn’t going to let Dick have even a shred of control over how this goes. 

He rocks his hips forward against Dick’s ass, pushing the hardness of his cock further into him which only pushes Dick further into Damian, forcing him close enough that Dick’s cock nudges Damian’s and Damian shivers and moans at the contact. Slade’s hands move up from Dick’s hips to his stomach, his arms wrapping around Dick, his fingers digging in to the stop right over his bellybutton, pressing down hard and intentional.

Dick tries to ignore all of that, too, but it’s harder to ignore than just a question or a memory. It’s hard to ignore the way Slade’s touch makes a jolt run from his stomach down to his cock, how that and the feeling of his cock touching Damian’s own smaller member make Dick go from soft to half hard in an instant, and how the most animalistic part of Dick wants to chase that feeling again, wants to thrust forward against Damian one more time and feel the slide of his cock moving between Damian’s slender thighs.

Dick tries to tell himself it’s just a bodily response to stimuli, just a physical sensation that anyone touching him like this would cause and that it would happen no matter whose naked body he was pressed against. He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t mean anything, that it has nothing to do with Slade, that it doesn’t have anything to do with  _ Damian _ .

Dick tries, at least.

“You that eager?” Slade asks him.

“The only thing I’m eager for is to get Damian the antidote and get the both of us the hell away from you.”

Slade huffs against his ear at that, his breath hot against Dick’s skin, and Dick hates how it feels. He hates how it makes his cock harden further between his legs, the puff of Slade’s breath against him making it throb with interest. 

“You’re feistier in bed than you used to be,” Slade comments, “but I think I like it.”

And before Dick can say anything to  _ that _ little observation, one of Slade’s hands is leaving his body and Dick can feel and hear Slade fumbling for something on his belt or in his pocket before his hand is back and slapping a bottle against Dick’s chest. 

Dick takes it, reluctantly, and grimaces at seeing what it is. 

“You remember how to use that,” Slade says rather than asks. His hand goes back to Dick’s hip, his grip tightening there again like he thinks he needs to hold Dick where he is lest Dick has second thoughts and tries to back out, as if it’s even  _ possible _ for Dick to back out now. “Get to it, then. As much as I’d love to keep you both here for as long as I want, like you said, we’re on a time table.”

Dick hesitates for a moment longer, his heart pounding harder than ever. 

He knows that he’s standing right on the line now, on the precipice, and that this is the last chance he has before he has to either go forward or go back. In a perfect world, this would be the moment he has a brilliant idea to save Damian without doing what Slade wants him to do after all. It would be the perfect time for someone – some other hero – to burst into the room and save the day.

A small, young, horribly  _ naive _ part of Dick almost expects that hero to be Bruce bursting through the door to save Damian and Dick both, a fantasy Dick had often the first time he was at Slade’s mercy like this, when he was only a little older than Damian himself and still answered to Robin more than he did his own name.

But Bruce didn’t save Dick then and he doesn’t suddenly appear to save Dick or Damian now. 

Dick knows deep in his gut that no one is going to save them, that he only has one choice in this if he wants Damian to survive. 

He hands are shaking as he uncaps the bottle of lube Slade gave him, the sound of it clacking open too loudly in the room to do any good for Dick’s nerves. He squeezes some of it out onto his fingers, the gel cool against his skin, and reaches between Damian’s legs to slip his hand in the center of Damian’s ass. 

Damian is moaning the second Dick touches him, his hips lifting up like an offering as a loud, drawn out noise rips its way out of his throat, all needy and wanting. It makes Dick’s cock throb against his will to hear it and makes him feel revolted with himself a few seconds too late at his own reaction, but it’s not enough to make Dick stop, because he knows he can’t stop now, and so his hand presses against Damian’s hole, smearing it slick with lube, getting Damian wet and sloppy with it, before he slides a finger inside. 

It’s too tight, is Dick’s first thought. 

Too tight for Dick’s finger and too tight for his cock, the surrounding heat of it gripping his digit and trying to swallow him inside as he experimentally pushes it in and out and Damian automatically starts moving his hips down, trying to fuck Dick’s finger back. When Dick slides the second finger in, Damian  _ keens _ for it and writhes as Damian scissors him open, stretching him, taking his fingers out long enough to get more lube on them and push them back inside, getting Damian’s hole wet, getting it ready for something more, getting it ready for Dick.

Dick wants to stay objective as he does it, he wants to stay level headed, unaffected, to see this as a painful chore that has to be endured, not enjoyed, but he despite himself...he can’t. 

Not when Damian is moving like he is, when he’s fucking himself back on Dick’s fingers, when he’s panting for it and moaning like he’s loving every bit of what Dick is doing to him with his eyes shut and his lashes wet with tears, his head thrown back and his cock hard between his legs just begging to be touched. 

Not when Dick’s own cock is just as hard where it’s standing against his stomach and Slade is still behind him, his hands on Dick’s hips holding him tight and  _ his _ cock pressed against Dick’s ass, pushing against it in just the right way that it makes it easy for Dick to grind back into it, some part of him that he knows he’s going to hate himself for later loving the feeling of Slade’s bulge hard and heavy with promise against him. 

It’s only when Dick manages to get a third finger into Damian, twisting them in his hole that’s not as tight now as it was when he started, that Slade does more than just sit back and watch. 

His hand leaves Dick’s hip to take him by the wrist, physically pulling his fingers out of Damian’s ass with a wet noise that’s drowned out by the whine Damian makes at not having anything filling him any more. 

“That’s enough,” Slade says, his voice low and gruff. Turned on, too, Dick would know even without Slade’s cock still as hard as ever against his ass, because he can recognize that tone as well as he can recognize anything even if it’s been awhile since he’s heard it. “He’s ready for it. Now give the kid what he wants.”

And Dick does.

Breathless and shaking, he moves closer into the space between Damian’s spread thighs and guides his cock between them, rubbing it against his slick opening before he slowly pushes it in. He feeds Damian his cock one agonizing inch at a time, and if Dick had thought Damian was tight around his finger, then its nothing compared to how he feels around his cock. 

Damian grips him, his insides hot and wet from the lube. The stretching Dick had done was enough to make the push of his cock inside of Damian possible but not exactly easy. He has to take every inch he pushes his cock in, earning them with effort. None of it is just given to him and Damian isn’t exactly holding still while Dick does it, either, squirming against the bed, his breathing hitched and gasping as he tries to push his hips down and get more of Dick into him faster than Dick wants to go. 

Dick has to grab Damian by the hips to hold him still so he doesn’t end up hurting himself, but Damian seems to like that, too. He moans louder at Dick’s touch and his ass squeezes around him, going even tighter for him, and Dick can’t hold back a moan of his own at the feeling and the way it makes his cock throb with need.

By the time Dick is fully sheathed inside of Damian, his body is hot all over and he’s nearly as breathless as Damian sounds. He pulls his cock back just a bit and thrusts back in, gentle and shallow, testing it, and he gasps at how good it feels. He does it again, rocking his hips into Damian, rocking his cock into him, using his grip on Damian’s hips to pull Damian’s small body into every thrust while Damian just lays there and takes it, his little cock bouncing between his legs as Dick moves within him.

Dick is so lost in the feeling of fucking into Damian’s body that he almost forgets about Slade’s warm, heavy presence behind him, but the lube slick fingers pressing against his own ass are enough to jolt him into remembering. 

Slade isn’t nearly as patient with Dick as Dick was with Damian, shoving one finger into Dick abruptly, the surprise of it making Dick thrust harder into Damian than he means to for a second which has Damian arching and making a noise that goes straight to Dick’s cock beneath him. 

“What are you –“ Dick tries, but the question is cut off into a gasp when Slade shoves another finger in before Dick can even adjust to the first one. 

The push of it is uncomfortable and aching, but not nearly as unpleasant as it could be, not when Dick has his own cock buried in Damian, keeping him hard and throbbing for it. Slade’s rough treatment of him only heightens the pleasure Dick is getting from body under his, making it better and making him feel closer to coming, his stomach going tight and his balls aching for it.

“You thought I’d let you have all the fun?” Slade asks, sounding just as turned on as he does amused as he fucks Dick with his fingers too rough, too fast, too soon. “When was I ever content to just  _ watch _ , Robin?”

Dick’s brain short circuits on any possible response to that. His only answer is a moan as he keeps thrusting into Damian and thrusting himself back onto Slade’s fingers every time he pulls out. He’s going faster than he was before, putting more force into it every time he fucks his cock into Damian’s hole. He’s pulling out farther, pushing in quicker, and Damian is gasping for it, moaning, his body pliant as Dick fucks it and his cock still hard and leaking from where it’s gone untouched for too long between his legs. 

Dick knows in the part of his head that isn’t lost to pleasure that he should slow down, that he should  _ stop _ , that this isn’t right, but the part of him that can feel his orgasm building with every twist of Slade’s fingers in him and every clench of Damian’s tight ass around his cock is louder, and even thinking about how wrong this is only sends him tumbling further towards what he wants, what his body craves. 

It only takes Slade pulling his fingers out and shoving his cock in to send Dick over the edge. 

Slade isn’t any more gentle about putting his cock in Dick than he was with his fingers, but Dick’s body doesn’t care. As soon as the blunt head of Slade’s cock breaches Dick’s ass, the push of it too fast and Dick’s hole not prepared enough for it not to hurt, Dick finds himself choking on air as he thrusts fully into Damian and tenses and groans loudly, his body going still as he comes, spilling himself inside, his cock pulsing until it goes soft in Damian and Dick’s body suddenly relaxes, collapsing over Damian’s body like a puppet who’s had its strings cut.

“Christ,” he thinks he hears Slade curse, but the word doesn’t register nearly as much as the feeling of Slade burying himself fully in his ass and wasting no time before he pulls out and immediately fucks back in, making Dick grunt into Damian’s neck from the force of it.

Slade keeps fucking him like that, fast and rough and hard, his hands digging into Dick’s hips hard enough that Dick knows he’s going to have bruises in the morning and Dick – 

Dick lets him. 

Dick’s body stays over Damian, his head tucked into his little brother’s neck and his cock still soft inside of him, and he lets Slade use him just like that. His body rocks with the force of Slade’s thrusts, making Dick thrust his own cock shallowly into Damian as a side effect, and the feeling of it is uncomfortable now, overstimulating and too much for his spent cock to really be pleasurable anymore, but Dick just grits his teeth and takes it. 

His heart is still pounding from exertion and his breathing is still fast, but they’re both slowing now and the haze of hot pleasure that had him fucking Damian so eagerly just minutes before is rapidly cooling into something more like horror and shame.

Beneath him, Damian is eerily still and Dick would be worried if he couldn’t feel Damian’s pulse against his lips – steady and even – and feel his breaths coming out in little puffs against his ear. 

Sleeping, Dick thinks with relief – or, more likely, passed out. Damian’s cock is soft against Dick’s belly where it’s trapped between their bodies and Dick can feel the come sticky and cooling between them. He tries to remember when Damian had come and then he tries not to and he doesn’t know whether he wants to know or not, whether the fact that Damian’s body got some enjoyment out of this makes it better or worse.

Slade’s thrusts get more brutal with longer pauses in between them, thrusting in hard only and holding there before he pulls out and then fucks in again, and sooner than Dick thought he would, Slade finally goes still behind him and stops. He groans, his grip on Dick’s hips going painful as Dick feels the hot spill of Slade’s come inside of him. 

That grip stays tight on Dick for a long moment before it relaxes along with the rest of Slade’s body. Slade’s hands linger on Dick for awhile longer, caressing the sore spots he put on Dick’s skin, before they leave him entirely. Slade pulls his cock out of Dick a second later and Dick winces at the feeling of it leaving him and the come leaking out of his ass and down the backs of his thighs. 

He feels the bed jostle as Slade gets up from it and hears the sound of him tucking his cock back in is pants. Dick turns his head enough to look at Slade then, to take in the relaxed,  _ pleased _ look on Slade’s face that he’s all too familiar with. It’s the look Slade always had on his face after he got done fucking Dick when he was Robin – the look sated and smug – and something twists painfully in Dick’s chest to see it again.

And then Dick sees Slade heading for the door and his chest aches for another reason entirely.

“Wait,” Dick calls out and he can hear Damian groan in his sleep at the sound of Dick’s raised voice, but waking Damian up is the least of Dick’s worries about Damian now. “The antidote, Slade. We had a deal.”

Slade stops with his hand on the door knob and turns to look back at Dick. His eye roves over the bed and Dick knows what he sees – Dick, naked and debauched, come spilling out of him, his body still on top of Damian’s, his cock still  _ in _ Damian. He can only imagine what Slade must be thinking, looking at them, but his smirk and the heat in his eye is enough that Dick can guess.

“There is no antidote,” Slade tells him, delivering the blow like it’s  _ nothing _ . “It’ll wear off by the time your Robin wakes up. You were right before, kid. I was lying.”

Slade’s smirk stretches into a toothy grin and before Dick can say anything – before what Slade has said registers and Dick can pull himself out of Damian and out of bed and cross the room and  _ bash Slade’s teeth in _ – Slade has already opened the door and walked through it, shutting it behind him without another glance.

Leaving Dick alone to deal with what he’s done while Damian sleeps, unaware and peaceful, beneath him.


End file.
